No Rest For the Wicked
by BackOfTheFridge
Summary: The final days and last thoughts of Lucy Westenra. Book based.


A brief moment of confusion gave way to panic as Lucy realized that she'd awoken, not in the same comfortable bed she'd fallen asleep in, but someplace cold, dark, and confined. She reached out with her hands and began feeling around. She seemed to be shut up in some sort of box, but for the life of her she couldn't think of a reason why anyone would want to do such a thing. As she ran her fingers along the inside of it, she found it to be hard, smooth and cold. Pushing on the lid, she found that it was quite immobile. Wherever she was, she was trapped. She began frantically beating on the lid with her fists and screaming more loudly than she ever had in her life. Moments later, she somehow found herself looking down on the container from the outside. Somehow, she'd managed to lift herself up out of it, but she could not understand how, since the lid was still firmly screwed in place. However she had managed to escape, she was grateful for it.. That was when she took a moment to look around her and knew immediately where she was. It was the Westenra family tomb. The place smelled of dank air and decaying flowers and was crawling with all manner of insects. Across from her she could see her father's coffin, and the one beside it that had been reserved for her mother. The container directly in front of her was another coffin, one that had not been there before, and so she knelt down to read the inscription on the plate. Though it must have been quite dark in the tomb, she was still somehow able to make out what it said. It read: "Lucy Westenra, devoted daughter and loving fiancée" along with the dates of her birth and the last day she could remember being awake. She rushed over to her mother's coffin and inspected the plate. It had been blank the last time she saw it but now her mother's name along with the dates of her birth and death had been etched upon it.

I t felt as if she were having another one of her nightmares. She half expected Mina or her mother to rouse her from her bad dream and tell her she'd been sleep walking again. She could remember being dreadfully ill. If it weren't a dream, the only conclusion she could come to was that some horrible mistake had been made and she'd been buried alive. The only other possibility that she could think of was that she had risen as some sort of ghost. Her heart sank when she thought of Arthur and that wherever he was, he must have believed that she was dead.

Remembering her lost love for the first time since her unholy resurrection, she was filled with a terrible longing, as well as a great swell of pity on his behalf. He'd lost his father only such a short time ago. Added to that now was the death of her own mother, whom he'd grown quite close to, and the stress of dealing with an increasingly ill fiancée whom he most likely believed to be dead. She could only imagine how much the poor man must be suffering. More than anything in the world, or even in the next one, she just wanted to go to him. Even if she were dead, she determined that it would not be enough to keep her from his side. But the familiar voice that had spoken to her in her dreams and throughout her delirium, reached out to her again and said but one word:

"**Wait**."

The word seemed to stab into her heart just as quickly as it had entered into her mind. She remembered the voice all too well, it's hold on her seeming to gain in strength during her illness just as her own strength was draining away. At first, she'd believed it to be the voice of an angel. His words had been so sweet before and his promises so enticing. Now she wondered if he'd truly been the devil all along, and now her soul was trapped in Hell and he refused to let her leave. _Why shouldn't I go to him now_, she wondered.

**"You _are_ dead, and you cannot return to the life that you relinquished. You must avoid the living because if they suspect what you have become, they will destroy you."**

"But why would the one's I love want to kill me now. How am I any different now than I had been before?" She spoke the question aloud that time.

There was no answer. The command remained the same and she knew she was bound by unnatural instinct to obey it. Still, she would have to leave the tomb because she'd just then begun to experience a stabbing hunger that was beckoning her with a command of it's own.

She tried the door to the crypt for several minutes before giving in to frustration. After, she leaned against it, trying to think of how she might knock it down, when she suddenly felt herself melting through it the same way she had risen up through the lid of her coffin. The next she knew, she was standing out in the night air of the cemetery. It finally dawned on her at that moment how peculiar it was that she should be dead but still able to walk around. _Perhaps it isn't that peculiar_, she thought. _After all, if one can continue walking about while one is sleeping, why should death be any more of a hindrance. _Despite how much she longed to go home, she dared not disobey her master's order. The mere thought of waiting alone in the crypt all night with the bodies of her parents was unbearable to her. Wherever she decided to go, she could not interact with anyone. As much as she feared to be alone, she did not wished to be seen by the eyes of the living if she had returned as some demon or phantom. Even if her new master had not been telling the truth, she now feared to make him angry because she knew now what he was capable of inflicting upon her and her loved ones if his wishes were not met.

Her mood lifted drastically after breathing in the fresh air for a few minutes. Being outdoors and feeling the cool night air against her skin was enough to make her laugh at her previous notions of being dead. She'd never felt so alive. Her senses were now so finely sharpened that everything she'd experienced prior to her illness seemed like being held under water and in total darkness.

She took a leisurely stroll through the tombstones toward the small wooded area near the outskirts of the cemetery. She would sometimes wander there as a child while her mother was visiting the family tomb. If she recalled correctly there were several patches of blackberry bushes that would be bearing fruit that season. As luck would have it, they were still there. She quickly picked a handful of the berries and began eating them voraciously. She then began to feel very sick all of the sudden was unable to keep the berries down. Her stomach twisted in pain and she could feel the hunger as strongly as ever. After the sickness from her attempt to consume the berries had finally subsided, she walked to the edge of the woods, where she thought she heard the sound of children playing. When she reached the edge, she could see a group of six children playing together in the heath the lay beyond the woods.

As she watched the children standing together in the tall grass that grew upon the heath, she found herself, for some strange reason, imagining them as a small heard of bipedal sheep. She lurked in the shadows of the leafy trees, watching them from afar. After a while, one of them seemed to grow tired of their games and began to wander off on his own. She had hoped that he would somehow wander into the small wooded area and closer to her. She saw no harm in talking to such a small child if he were by himself. Even if he did think to find it strange that a young woman be wandering out alone at night, dressed in her death robe as she was, no one wound be likely to believe such stories from someone so young. If she managed to befriend the boy, he might also be of use to her in her effort to procure food. He continued coming closer to where she stood hiding in the shadows. It almost felt as if she were drawing him to her somehow. When he was finally close enough, she stepped out into his view.

He stood before her in stunned silence for a moment. The way that she stepped, seemingly out of nothingness, must have alarmed him. She kneeled down low to the ground, so that she could look to him on his level and spoke to him in a soft sweet voice.

"Hello, David." She wasn't sure how she could have known his name. It was as if she'd somehow reached into his head and plucked it out.

"Hello," he answered. "Who are you?"

"My name is Lucy."

There was another long silence. Once the introductions had been made, neither seemed to know what to say next, so she found herself blurting out the very first thing that came to mind.

"David," she waited for him to look her in the eyes, "do I look _dead_ to you?"

The little boy seemed to need a few seconds to think it over, but then he shook his head from side to side and told her that she was very beautiful. Only, because he was still so young, the words sounded more like "vay blooful". The sound of it made her giggle a little and she smiled at him tenderly. He then crept up to her and put his tiny arms around her in an unexpected hug. She was a bit startled by it at first, but then returned the embrace. It was a great comfort to her. Though it had not been much of a conversation, it was still good to talk to someone. It seemed that several minutes had passed and she had been filled with a sudden warmth. Even the hunger that she'd experienced upon waking had seemed to reside a bit. It was not until his tiny body had gone limp in her arms that she even realized that she had been biting into his neck. As soon as she became aware of it, she released him and allowed him to sink down onto the grassy earth. He lie still but she could still hear his heart beating softly in his chest. She was shocked and horrified by what she'd just done. The child's blood still ran down her throat and tasted of copper in her mouth. She left the boy lying in the grass under the cover of the trees and ran back toward her tomb. Confusion overwhelmed her. She had no idea why she would want to do such a thing.

Some small inkling of comprehension began to dawn on her when she remember that she had attempted to drink the blood of another on one other occasion, though she did not understand what she was doing at the time.

It had happened while she was still ill, during a visit with Arthur. She could recall the incident quite clearly. He sat down beside her on the bed, though he was careful not to sit too close. After all, the were not married yet. She had been so deeply touched by his concern for her health. At first, she had simply placed her hand, gently and lovingly upon his cheek. He had smiled so sweetly in warm response to the gesture. At the time it had seemed ample encouragement to snake her tiny fingers around to the back of his neck pull him down to her, until their lips met. She kissed him with such fierce passion and intensity he likely suspected that she meant to devour him. Whatever his thoughts at the time, she must have done something to make him feel uncomfortable because he began to nervously pull away from her embrace. He'd done this many times before and she had always reluctantly allowed for him to slip away from her while blushing with embarrassment for her own eagerness. But for some reason, on that particular occasion she could not allow herself to let him go. Though their lips had parted, her hand remained around the back of his neck and her eyes stayed focused on his, pleading silently. It seemed for a moment that he meant to stand up. Then suddenly, before she even realized what she was doing, the hand that had been around his neck had snaked its way into his soft, curly hair and violently yanked his head back as she climbed over across his lap and pushed him back onto the bed. She then resumed their kiss, plunging her mouth into his even more deeply and fiercely than before. At first he seemed in too much shock to struggle against her. As she tightened her rough grip on the back of his scalp, she thought she could feel a soft whimper of pain begin to rise up through his throat and into his mouth before being swallowed by her own. Once he'd managed to overcome the shock, he attempted to gently but firmly push her away. To his surprise, she had simply batted his hands away like a pesky nuisance before grabbing them by the wrists and pressing them down against the mattress in a grip that seemed unbreakable as steel. She slowly pulled her lips away from his and brushed her cheek softly against his jaw line as she made her way down to the side of his neck. She breathed in deeply, taking in his scent and felt him shudder underneath her as she did so. As she pressed her face into the tender flesh of his throat, she could feel the rapid beating of his pulse. The longer she felt the rhythmic pulsation of that vital fluid as it coursed through his body, the more she felt that she needed it somehow. She brushed her lips across the sensitive skin over his throat was just about to bite into it when she heard her master's voice command her to stop. She felt compelled to obey and released Arthur from her grip. He sat up, looking very confused, but uttered not a single word more to her. They both sat there in awkward silence until Lucy's mother came to fetch him so that Lucy could return to her rest.

She doubted that she'd craved exactly the same thing from the child that she had desired from Arthur at the time. Though, if she had, it would hardly be the first perverse inclination to have graced her mind. That was exactly the problem that had delivered her into such a predicament.

More than anything, she wished that during the time of her illness, she had been more honest with those close to her. Perhaps if she had told them the truth there may have been more they could have done to prevent all the misery that had been caused by her terrible mistake. Van Helsing certainly knew much more than he was letting on to the others. Likely he suspected the truth all along. Indeed, she had been the victim of a great evil, but what they did not know was that she'd been a foolish and willing victim of that evil, at least in the beginning. The longer time went on, the less she was able to resist his influence and the more clearly she could understand him when his mind reached out to hers. Every time she closed her eyes to try to sleep, she could see his terrible red eyes staring into her soul. By the time she had become truly frightened by what the monster might be capable of, it was already too late. She'd given him too much power and he was able to thwart her own efforts to stop him as well as using her to thwart the efforts of anyone else who cared enough to try to save her. Now her mother was dead, she herself was something worse than dead, and everyone that she held dear was in terrible danger, all because of her own terrible choice.

It had all begun that night Mina had found her sleepwalking in the cemetery. She would experience the strangest dreams while sleepwalking. On the night the she had ventured out into the cemetery, she dreamt that she had been visited by an angel with the sweetest and most beautiful voice. His eyes glowed red like fire and he flew on great, feathered wings. She should have known he could not truly be an angel, because he was busy tempting her with the most sinful of things. She could hear him as he floated about her all the way from her bedroom to the graveyard.

"It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?" He whispered.

"What does?" She asked innocently.

"The way that they long for you, all of them. You enjoyed having them compete for your affections, knowing that you could have chosen any one of them for your own, wishing that you could have chosen more than just one. In fact, if you'd been allowed, you'd have chosen all three."

"I only wished for that to spare the others the pain of being rejected."

He chuckle at that last remark in such a way that made her skin crawl. "And quenching your own desires had nothing to do with it?"

She said nothing.

He then touched his fingers to her forehead and suddenly she could see in her mind the image of three beautiful women who seemed to appear and disappear in whirls of mist. "You could have your three, just as I have mine. I know what it is that you desire and I know what it is that you fear."

"What do I fear then?"

"You fear that that all you have to offer the world is your beauty and that, when that fades away, all the love and attention you receive shall fade along with it. It is only right that you should fear the inevitable." It was true. Secretly, she feared the day would come when they would discover her hidden sinfulness and turn away from her in disgust. She knew that the physical beauty she possessed could not last forever. One day she would become old and withered and she feared that the illusion of her purity would wither along with it. Who could bring themselves to love her then, and what would become of her? He leaned in closely and whispered into her ear. "I could change all of that, Dear Lucy. I can make you so that your beauty need never fade. Give yourself over to me, and I shall make you all that you have ever wished to be. You wish to be strong and intelligent like your friend Mina. You need only come to me, and I shall make it so."

"But Arthur…" She began to interrupt.

"And," he stopped her, "I shall make it so that the one you love shall be just as devoted to you as Jonathan is to her."

When at last they reached the cemetery, she caught site of the bench that she and Mina always sat upon. Sitting quietly upon the bench was Geordie Canon. The top of his head had indeed been blown off, just as Mr. Swales had said, and his face, body and clothes looked smashed and tattered from his fall off of the cliff and into the rocks below. He looked as though he were waiting for something, however, she doubted it had anything to do with any "_glorious resurrection_". He smiled when he saw her coming and patted his broken and decaying hand upon the seat of the bench beside him, beckoning for her to take it. She did so without the slightest hesitation, and she never shuddered or flinched in the slightest when Geordie wrapped his cold, dead, broken arm around her and drew her in for a kiss. His lips were cold and the inside of his mouth tasted of blood. With her tongue, she could feel that a large section was missing from the roof of his mouth and she deduced that it must have been where he'd placed the barrel of the musket before pulling the trigger. For a corpse, he'd been surprisingly passionate. After a while, she felt Geordie's presence fade away and she could feel herself being pulled back into the arms of the dark angel. Oddly, she felt perfectly comfortable with the angel taking over the work the dead man had begun. His arms drew tightly around her waist as he pulled her in closer to him. She closed her eyes, lost in a blissful contentment as she felt his cool breath trailing up her shoulder and the side of her neck. There he stopped and placed a series of gentle kisses. She sighed deeply in response but then quickly drew her breath back into her lungs with a gasp when she felt a sudden, stabbing pain where he kissed her. In that same instant, he'd begun to squeeze her so tightly she thought her bones might shatter like glass. Moments later, she felt as though she were falling and it made her feel grateful that he was holding onto he so tightly. Finally, he pulled way from her neck and kissed her on the mouth. She could taste blood in his mouth, as she had with Geordie, only this time it was her own. By the time he broke away from the kiss, she was gasping for air and he had to lay her back gently onto the bench because she no longer felt strong enough to sit up. He bent over her and she watched as he cut open his wrist with one of his sharp fingernails and a stream of crimson began to flow forth from the wound. He then held the bleeding wrist up close to her mouth and spoke top her imploringly.

"All you need to do is drink this, and all my power will be yours as well. Be mine and I shall be yours as well."

Willingly, and without ever stopping to consider the consequences, she drank of his blood. Then she heard something in the distance. It was Mina, calling out her name and she could see her friend running toward her as if trying to warn her against some danger. When she looked back up toward to angel that hovered over her, she saw the his wings suddenly shed their soft, white feathers and become like those of a bat. They spread out and carried him up flapping into the air. Then he was gone, and the next she knew, she was being shaken awake by Mina and wrapped in a shawl.

The devil had promised her so many things that night he came to her in the cemetery but he had already give her what she had yearned for the most. He had looked into those dark, secret corners of her mind and soul. He had seen her for the loathsome, despicable creature that she was underneath. He knew that she was not the monument to purity and virtue that so many others had longed to possess, and yet he had wanted her still. He had wanted her, not only despite her hidden wickedness but because of it. For the first time in her life, she felt that she was being desired for what she truly was and not just for what she pretended to be.

When she returned to the crypt, she could feel him reaching out to her again and she could hear his words in her head, explaining to her what she had become, the changes she would experience, and all that she would need to know if she wished to survive in her new state of being.

………………………

Three days after her resurrection, she could no longer resist the urge to return to her old home. Though she did not expect anyone to be there to invite her in, it had been her home and one is always welcome in one's home, even when no one is available to state that welcome. So she hoped , anyhow. To her great relief, she found that she was indeed able to cross the threshold and pass through the doorway into the house. What had transpired there had likely made the foundation just as unhallowed as the earth below her tomb. All the doors were locked and all the windows locked and covered. The servants were nowhere to be found. She doubted they would want to stay in the house a moment longer than they had to, after the mysterious deaths of both the ladies of the house and all the strange events surrounding them.

She glided slowly up the stairs and toward her bedroom. Upon opening the door, the first thing she noticed was the bed. The memory first triggered by the sight of it was the feeling of the weight of her mother's dead body as it had fallen atop hers. Then she remembered how she had felt while lying there, languishing away from her inexplicable illness. Next, she looked to the window. Someone had boarded it over and swept up the broken glass from where the wolf had come crashing through. All these things brought back painful, frightful memories. The only comfort she found came with the sight of her vanity table, which remained just as it had been when she'd left it. She crossed over the room to give it a closer inspection.

She could only imagine how disheveled she must look after several days spent sleeping in a tomb. As he stepped up to the mirror, she noticed something very strange indeed. She could not see herself in the glass. Even when she came close enough to touch her hand to the surface of the mirror, she cast no reflection upon it. Disbelieving what she saw, or rather did _not_ see, she picked up a glass bottle that sat on the edge of the vanity and passed it in front of the glass. Although she could see the reflection of the bottle, suspended in the air as if by some sort of magic, she could not see the hand that held it. Fear caused he hand to tremble and the bottle slipped to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. She sank down onto the stool in front of vanity and began to weep. In life, when she would while away her time in front of the mirror, she knew that her loved ones concluded that it was mainly due to vanity. It probably was to some extent, but mostly she just wanted to understand what it was that everyone else saw when they looked at her. She'd never quite understood why everyone who knew her believed her to be so sweet and innocent when she knew for a fact that she was not. _How does one person look at another and determine that he or she is of good character? How is purity of the soul measured? _Her friend and former suitor Dr. Seward was required to do so as a part of his profession. He had attempted to read her face on many occasions. To her great disappointment, even he could not seem to grasp what lay hidden beneath the surface. Often when she gazed in front of the mirror, she wished to herself that it could somehow show her a true reflection of herself, rather than the saccharine sweet child-like face that everyone else saw. Perhaps the devil had heard that secret wish just like he had heard all the other dark whisperings of her heart and had granted her wish. Perhaps she saw nothing in the mirror because there was nothing there to be seen. Perhaps she had no soul or substance to her. It would explain how she had fallen under the devil's sway so easily.

Mina, she knew, would not have given into him so easily. Her dear friend possessed not only a heart of gold but a will of iron. She would not have been tempted by his sinful offerings, and if he tried to force his evil upon her, she would have fought him with a fierceness that even the devil himself could not match. But Lucy had never been as strong as Mina, or as innocent as everyone had believed.

In her heart of hearts, despite what everyone who loved her had always told her, she knew that she was not as sweet or as pure as they believed her to be. There had always been dark corners in her mind and soul that she never dared to share with anyone, not even Mina or her beloved Arthur. They were the parts of her that listened to old Mr. Swales morbid stories about the sometimes violent deaths of inhabitants of the cemetery and couldn't help wanting to chuckle at times. The parts about the corpses tumbling up out of their graves and dragging their tombstones as evidence of lives well lived was especially amusing, though she tried her best to seem offended by his remarks. She'd also done her best to look mortified when he informed Mina and herself that their favorite seat was placed over the grave of a man who had committed suicide. It had given her the strangest feeling when he'd tried to calm her anxiety about the matter by assuring her that "it may make poor Geordie gladsome to have so trim a lass sittin' in his lap". Suddenly her head became filled with thoughts of cold dead flesh, stiff with rigor mortis. Instead of feeling repulsed, as she knew a proper lady should feel as a result of such imaginings, she felt a slight thrill of excitement and a warm tingle that ran up her legs and spine. Oftentimes she would frighten herself with her own heretical thoughts and beastly desires.

Looking back, she realized that what had likely drawn her to John Seward in the first place was the spark of hope that he, being the talented young psychologist that he was, would be able to peer into those dark corners, diagnose the defect and somehow cure her of her disease. Then she wondered if she might have been attracted to Quincey Morris for much the same reason, imagining that the strong, brave, adventurous American would somehow be able to rescue her from her own demons, right before pulling her up onto his galloping steed and riding off into the sunset. In each of their cases she'd hoped to find a knight in shining armor that would rescue her from herself.

Arthur had been a different case. Her mother had told her once when she still a little girl, that men fall in love but women fall in love with being loved. In other words, a man will fall in love with a woman because of qualities inherent in her, but a woman is drawn to a man by the affection he shows her. Lucy knew, once she'd met Arthur Holmwood, that this was not always true. Out of the three men who'd sought her hand in marriage, he'd been the last to make his proposal and the last to let her know of his feelings for her. At the time, she'd felt quite embarrassed having to tell the both John and Quincey that, although there was already another man that she loved and would pledge her life and love to, he had not yet made his own feelings clear. Throughout their entire courtship he'd been so coy and chaste with her, presenting himself more as a dear friend than a potential lover. Perhaps that was why she'd chosen him out of the three. He'd presented the greater challenge. He possessed a sort of boyish innocence that she found so enticing. All at once she understood why men valued chastity and virtue in women though their own intentions with the same women are ultimately carnal. It was something new and exciting to be the one in pursuit and it filled her with a strange sense of power that only fueled her already considerable hunger for him. She sometimes imagined herself as a ravenous she-wolf chasing after some beautiful but elusive stag.

_That_ was what she was feeling at that moment. The desire to hunt. Her newly heightened instincts were demanding that she do so. Her first feeding had felt almost like an accident. She'd acted without thought or understanding. Now she was becoming much more conscious of and calculating in her efforts to quench her thirst for blood. With each feeding, it was becoming easier to think of them as food rather than children.

………………………

It could have been days or weeks since Lucy had first risen from the dead. Matters such as the passage of time were no longer of any consequence to her. The tiny girl lie still and sleeping in her arms as she made her way once again to the tomb. She had not yet fed upon the girl's blood, but she'd half made up her mind to turn the child and make her into one like herself, if only so she could have someone to talk with other than the voice of her master in her head.

As she came closer to the tomb, she thought for a moment she might be losing her mind as well as her soul, for she thought she could see her old friend, John Seward standing vigil outside. It did not appear as though he had just stopped by to pay his respects to the departed. Rather, it looked as if he were waiting for her to return. She stepped back into the shadows before he had a chance to witness her approach. Unfortunately she could also see Professor Van Helsing, running toward her. He must have seen her darting past and decided to give chase. She was easily able to slip past him, but she was forced to drop her prey in the process. When she returned to her coffin, she could see that it had been opened and the thought of it filled her with fear. John would likely attempt to find another reasonable explanation for the fact that her body had not been present in the coffin when it was opened. Van Helsing, on the other hand, would know exactly what it meant. No doubt, the old man meant to destroy her now that he had his proof. She would be helpless if they came for her during the day. All she could do was wait and hope that their next meeting would be on her terms. Conveniently, her master offered her no new words of advice concerning this new turn of events

………………………

They had not come to kill her during the day, so when night came, she resumed feeding her hunger for blood in the usual fashion. Once again, she carried in her arms the body of a slumbering child. This time it was a small boy, and she had quite made up her mind to make him like herself.

Van Helsing was the first to step out from his hiding place, followed in immediate succession by John, Quincey, and even Arthur. The poor man looked as though he might faint when he caught the sight of her. She thought it infinitely cruel of Van Helsing to have brought Arthur into the matter. Van Helsing had been waiting for her outside her family tomb the night before, seen for himself what she'd become, and could have easily put an end to her himself as she slept in her coffin the next day. Arthur need never have known. What was the point of showing her to him, except to cause them both even greater anguish? Already she could sense his disgust as he looked at the monstrosity before him. It made her feel sickened and ashamed with herself. She'd wanted so desperately to reveal her presence to him, but not as he looked upon her then. The child's blood still dripped from her mouth and had run down the front of her death robe.

As they drew in closer, cornering her like an animal, she began to respond more like an animal. She was overwhelmed with a burning and intense hatred for the same ones she had once loved. She snarled and hissed like a beast before throwing her intended meal to the ground. Then the hunger came over her again and her previous feelings of shame faded into nothingness as she began stalking toward Arthur, singling him out simply because she perceived him to be the most vulnerable. She reached into his mind and knew what he'd been feeling. He was at least partly aware of how his blood had bound them together, though he was not aware that she had taken the blood of the other men as well. Instead of being overwhelmed with pity for the man the she loved, she saw only an weakness to be exploited. She reached out to him with her mind and he stood transfixed, as if under a spell. He tried to cover his face with his hand but she knew she could still get through to him.

"Come to me, Arthur. Leave these others and come to me. My arms are hungry for you. Come, and we can rest together. Come, my husband, come!" Strangely, and somewhat miraculously, she found that as she'd spoken the words and come closer to him, the anger faded and she could truly see Arthur as her husband and not as her executioner. She realized that the words she spoke were true. She had longed to be with him again. If only she could lure him from the others, she thought.

Van Helsing could see what was happening and moved in quickly, holding a crucifix out toward her. She felt it give off an energy that made her blood boil from the inside. She had no other option than to rush past him in the direction of the tomb. Her feelings turned then to confusion, frustration, and panic when she discovered that they had somehow blocked her entry into the crypt. Van Helsing then held her trapped between the doorway and the crucifix. Just when she believed his cruelty up until that point could not have been surpassed, he stopped and turned back toward Arthur and asked for his permission before he proceeded to destroy her. Whatever had been left of her heart was then dashed to ribbons by the sharp words that came then from her beloved's lips.

"Do as you will, my friend. Do as you will. There can be no horror like this ever any more!"

Once Van Helsing had broken the seal, she was able to slip through the doorway to the tomb and reenter her coffin. She was positive that they would follow her and try to attack her while she slept, but she could think of no other course of action. There was nowhere else that she would be able to rest, and she could not wander forever. She expected them to follow her into the tomb immediately, but after a long, fearful wait inside her coffin, she realized they weren't coming. They had no intention of allowing her to continue her unnatural existence, that much she knew for certain. Likely, they would return during the day to destroy her while she was at her weakest.

After she had allowed herself to calm down a bit, she came to accept the idea a bit more easily. The fear she had experienced while being cornered by her old friends was based entirely on animal instinct and not on any genuine desire on her part to continue existing as she was. With each passing night, she was becoming less and less like herself and more like the one that had made her. Soon she would only serve to desecrate and destroy all that she had once loved. As much as she loved Arthur and honored John and Quincey for their friendship, she knew that she would have killed or turned every last one of them had it not been for Van Helsing's interference. For the sake of all those that loved her and whom she had loved in life, she would have to let go of the miserable excuse for life she had endured since death. She knew now that true death was a far kinder fate than to continue on in such a state. Despite how deeply she had yearned to have Arthur with her again, the thought of turning him into the same sort of miserable creature she herself had become, was even more unbearable than the thought of an eternity without him. It was difficult to imagine that there would be much peace waiting for her in the hereafter. She had given in to the devil's temptations willingly and it was far too late to recant. At least Arthur, being unaware of her folly and believing her to be only the innocent victim of an unspeakable monster, would believe that he was sending her soul to its eternal rest in His kingdom. Then he would be allowed to rest without being haunted by the demon that had worn the face of his lost love for a time. Her death would bring an end to his pain, if not her own. Knowing this, she thought, might allow her some small peace of mind even as the fires of the pit consumed her.

She closed her eyes and returned to her death-like slumber, praying that His will be done and that she would not rise again.


End file.
